


shut up.

by androgynousmikewheeler



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Repression, it's bill and ted what did y'all expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynousmikewheeler/pseuds/androgynousmikewheeler
Summary: Bill's habit of drawing Ted most certainly does not mean he has a crush. Shut up.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 164





	shut up.

Okay, listen. It’s not like _that_ , okay? Bill knows if someone looked in his notebook, they might get the wrong idea, but it’s not because he’s gay or anything.

It’s just… okay, technically he only took one art class. And technically he _did_ drop it after three weeks to have more time for band practice. But he learned a couple things. Ms. Weathers, with her cropped pants and cropped hair, said a lot about "capturing gesture." Bill’s pretty sure that’s why she spent so much time gazing at the dance teacher’s long hair and swishy hips. You know, for artistic research.

See? It’s like that. Bill’s just doing artistic research. You know, not all artists banged their muses. Probably. He doesn’t know. They didn’t snatch any muses out of time. But you get the point. Shut up. 

What he’s trying to say is that he’s just drawing Ted because he’s so… gesture-y. Gestural? Yeah, that’s a word. Ted’s very gestural. He’s never just standing, he’s jumping or nodding or swinging his arms or laughing with his whole body and his hair flops into his eyes and they’re this most enchanting brown and they get all soft when he smiles and he just looks so effortless and— 

Now you’re getting the wrong impression again. Stop with that knowing smirk. It’s bogus. Ted’s just… you’ve seen him, you know what he’s like. He’s easy to watch. And nice to draw, okay? Now knock it off.

So his notebook, which was supposed to be for history, has a few sketches of Ted. Well, technically, it's full of sketches of Ted. You can't really tell it's him in most of them, unless you're really looking, because Bill only spent three weeks in that art class, and drawing is hard, dude. He's trying real hard, alright?

And it's not that he's trying to hide it from Ted, per se. That would be a heinous thing to do to a friend. It's just that, well, Bill doesn't have much experience with having brains, and he knows it. He also knows that Ted has even less. So he's really just making sure Ted doesn't get the wrong idea. Like _someone else_ who doesn't seem to believe that he's not gay. He really isn't. Seriously. Shut up.

So maybe he has been discreet with his drawings. And maybe he hid them all the way at the bottom of his backpack, but it's not because he's paranoid. Seriously. He and Ted don't really have much concept of boundaries, you know? Sometimes Ted needs a pencil, or a snack, or a piece of paper, and he's kind of forgetful, so he'll just take it out of Bill's backpack. Which is totally fine. Usually.

But he doesn't really want Ted finding these. Not because he has a crush. He does not have a crush on Ted, okay? No crushes. He is most certainly into babes and most certainly not into dudes. Even dudes with cute smiles and pretty eyes and soft hair and–

_Shut up!_

So Ted's digging through his backpack, looking for who knows what. And Bill's totally chill. He's not freaking out or anything. Maybe every single muscle in his body is tensed, but it's not like Ted's going to find anything. He'll just grab a snack and get back to– nope. Nope, nope, nope. Shit, shit, shit. Bill's life is over. Absolutely over. This is not an alarm, this is not a test, everybody panic.

Ted pulls out the tattered red notebook, the word, "HISTROY," written across it in thick sharpie, and waves it at Bill. His grin stretches across his face.

"This is most triumphant, Bill! You're always writing in this, dude, which means we can make an excellent presentation this year without a time machine."

Bill freezes, his sloping eyelids opened wide. His heart is hammering, terror and rejection and…

Okay, fine. Hope. There's some hope in there. Maybe.

Ted opens the notebook and laughs. "Dude, this page is just drawings. Not very helpful." He winks at Bill and flips a page, then another, smile slowly falling. "My friend," he mutters, the dejected look rare on his puppy dog face, "this is a most significant number of drawings."

Bill gulps. Ted interpreted the drawings exactly like Bill thought he would. And yeah. His interpretation is correct. But he's really not in the mood to hear you gloating about being right, so keep it to yourself. 

He's currently somewhere in the gray zone between humiliated, horrified, and heartbroken. And Ted's flipping through the notebook, page after page of Ted and Ted and Ted and Ted and wrong and wrong and wrong and wrong and dirty and broken and rotten and…

Fag. That's the word that Bill knows is on Ted's mind, on the tip of his tongue, a word they both know isn't inaccurate.

"You didn't tell me you were into Janie Michaels," Ted says at last.

Bill's panic careens to a confused halt. "Huh?"

Ted points at the book. "I just think it's pretty bogus of you to not tell me. You've drawn her a million times. When'd you stop telling me this stuff?"

Oh. Since Janie chopped her hair off and started wearing vests, there's been a certain resemblance. And, you know, Bill's not exactly an artist. 

His secret's safe. Good. Right? That's a good thing, that Ted doesn't know. He's not disappointed. He's relieved. Yeah, definitely relieved.

He laughs, trying to ignore how awkward and forced it sounds. "Sorry, dude. I should have– Ted?"

Ted's not looking at him. Ted's hiding behind his bangs and making very odd little breathing noises. It takes him a moment to recognize something he hasn't seen Ted do in the seven years since his mom left.

"Ted, are you crying?"

He pulls a sleeve across his eyes and shakes his head. "No way, dude. It's just allergies."

"You only get allergies in spring, my friend." He walks to Ted, who refuses to look up, so he sinks to one knee, looking up through dark bangs to Ted's wet eyes.

"Ted, you seem most egregiously upset. I didn't mean to–"

He resolutely avoids eye contact as he mutters, "It's not a big deal. I'm fine, Bill."

"You do not seem fine, Ted. I've only seen you cry three times in the whole of our camaraderie." He rests a hand on Ted's knee. Ted flinches.

"I am simply tired of my own self-delusion."

Now this is an unexpectedly introspective statement. Ted is not known for introspection, after all.

"What self-delusion, dude?"

He taps his fingers in a chaotic tumble. "For a moment, I thought the drawings were of me." He meets Bill's eyes, more vulnerable than Bill has ever seen him. "I wanted them to be of me."

He's not sure he can trust his ears, certain he's not understanding right. "Because…"

"Because I'm in love with you, Bill. And I wanted you to be too."

He can't breathe. He can't think. He can't move. He can just look at Ted, Ted who loves him, Ted who _loves him_ , in absolute awe. 

But Ted is standing up, Ted is brushing him off, walking away, and it is all crumbling again until he shouts, "They are."

He turns back. "What?"

"They are of you. Because I am– I do– I love you."

"Whoa."

"I love you."

Bill rushes up to him, and okay, maybe he wants to kiss him a little. Or a lot. Or more than he has ever wanted anything in his whole life. But Ted still looks so shocked, and maybe he also wants to wait a little, find the perfect moment. 

So he wraps his arms as tight around Ted's waist as he can possibly manage. And Ted's arms wrap around him. And everything is most excellent.


End file.
